


Healed

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode: s01e10 Dagger of the Mind, Ficlet, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 20:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock fixes the effects of the neural neutralizer.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 18
Kudos: 163





	Healed

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Curado](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22349641) by [Akeru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akeru/pseuds/Akeru)

> A/N: Set after the “Dagger of the Mind” episode, wherein Kirk was mentally tortured and apparently didn’t get treatment for it.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

It isn’t the first time Jim’s been in his quarters, but it’s the first time _like this_, where Jim isn’t coming to him as a captain or a friend but in desperate need of _rest_. Spock can offer Jim what even Dr. McCoy can’t: his quarters are Jim’s personal sickbay. For the first time, Spock reaches out his hand and collects Jim’s in his. There’s a faint spark from the contact, a warm, almost electric current that shimmers between their palms. It’s a deliberate, firm _touch_, meant to ease Jim into the sensation of Spock’s hands on him. Jim glances down at where their fingers clasp together, saying nothing. 

Spock guides Jim deeper. He takes Jim to his bed, because that’s the most comfortable seat, and he wants Jim to feel relaxed and _safe_. Jim sits down on the mattress, feet stretching out—Spock says nothing of the boots atop his blankets. Jim leans against the headboard and draws in a long breath, then looks up at Spock, hazel eyes just a little wide. Spock promises, “This will not hurt.”

“I know,” Jim says, with total confidence, even though he has nothing to go on but Spock’s word. That’s always been enough. Surely Jim knows that Spock would never, _ever_ harm him. It doesn’t need to be said, but Jim breathes anyway, “I trust you. I just... need this _fixed_.”

Spock nods. Jim bore a grievous wound on the Tantalus Penal Colony, one that sickbay should’ve treated, but as advanced as Starfleet medicine has become, there’s only so much machinery can do. At a certain point, the mind becomes too delicate to probe. Jim’s mind has been violated. He licks dry lips and tries to explain, “I have all these... feelings... that I know aren’t mine. They aren’t _right_, Spock.” Spock nods. He understands. _Feelings_ aren’t his strong suit, but if he ever experiences them, it’s when dealing with Jim. He’s willing to try anything to stop the pain Jim feels. 

He splays his fingers across Jim’s face, touching certain points and marveling again at even that light touch. Jim doesn’t tense beneath him. Jim’s eyes stay locked on his. Spock begins to murmur the words that will solidify their connection, and he lets himself slide forward, gently ebbing into the strangeness of a fully Terran mind.

It’s nothing like Dr. Van Gelder. That was a violation to _Spock_, but he suffered it for the sake of answers: he had to protect his captain. This is entirely different. Jim’s mind is tortured, but not a foreign entity—it feels oddly right to slip beneath his skin. Their worlds meld together, Spock’s struggle for logic and Jim’s tight grip on command. Spock drowns in Jim’s image of the bridge: his sense of _self_, sitting in the captain’s seat, like everything that Starfleet embodies. Spock swims through the currents of Jim’s temperament, Jim’s thoughts and deepest fears, then shudders at a flood of memories that don’t belong. 

He sees Jim embracing a woman, a doctor in medical blue, her dark hair tangled up in his fingers as he kisses her with a passion that doesn’t ring true. It’s strange, uncomfortable to see, and not just because of the intimacy—because Spock can feel Jim’s anguish. The details are vivid and clear, but Jim’s skin crawls, and Spock feels it. He doesn’t love her. He loves his ship, his crew, his first officer most of all, and when Spock brushes up against that knowledge, he has to wriggle away. It ignites a part of his own mind that he’s not ready to see. It’s not right to pursue it here. It’s not what he came for. He wanders away, to false adoration for the man that drilled this into Jim’s brain. Spock finds Dr. Adams’ face and tells Jim clearly what it _really_ did. He can feel that Jim believes him. Jim just needed to be told deeper than the surface. Spock does that. He breaks the cables on the new ideals Dr. Adams put in Jim’s head and lets them drift off into the forgotten corners of Jim’s mind. 

Jim ripples with gratitude. The affection he was supposed to have, not for Helen Noel but for _Spock_, laps at his feet. Outside of the mind meld, Spock’s breath hitches. Jim beckons him forward, inviting him into that new world of sincere emotion. But those are Jim’s private feelings. He’s too vulnerable right now. It would be wrong to purse them. Spock shivers and makes himself withdraw.

He comes back into himself, a single being again, suddenly lonely. His fingers fall from Jim’s handsome face. Jim’s body slumps back against the wall, and he looks at Spock from under heavy lashes.

He breathes, “That’s _so_ much better.”

Spock nods. Jim adds, “Thank you.”

Everything won’t instantly be fixed. But Jim should sleep better tonight, and in time, he’ll mend. Spock needs time to meditate on his own discoveries, to absorb the new troubles he’s unearthed. He should tell Jim to leave but can’t bring himself to talk.

Jim does it for him. Jim slowly shifts away from Spock, climbing off the bed. Spock stays seated there, looking up, their eyes connected. Jim reaches out to squeeze Spock’s shoulder, and though two layers of thick material lie between them, Spock still feels the spark. 

Then Jim leaves, and Spock’s alone.


End file.
